Funny stuff: Be my Valentine…I dare you
By Harvey H. (“Hardy”) Jackson
Many folks, middle-aged men mostly, do not look forward to Valentine’s Day.
Not just because they are expected to send the woman they love flowers and candy and such stuff. They can handle that. But they fear that the object of their affection might consider the gift insufficiently romantic and judge them thusly.
That happened to a guy I knew who briefly lived under the mistaken assumption that the true measure of love was presenting your dear one with a gift that you would buy for yourself – give unto others as you would have them give unto you, or something like that.
He loved to fish.
See where this is heading?
What better way to say “I love you” than with a new rod and reel?
The relationship was over before the year was out.
That’ll learn him.
Personally, I do not look forward to Valentine Day’s because it brings back memories of when I was in elementary school. Of all the events on our calendar, none created more consternation and concern, anxiety and angst than the ceremony of acceptance and rejection that occurred every Feb. 14.
Teachers seemed to love it because preparation kept us busy. They knew that the idle hands of pre-adolescents are surely the devil’s workshop.
Preparing started innocently enough. No sooner was Groundhog Day past than our teacher would bring out the scissors, colored paper and paste, from which the artistic among us (usually the girls) would create hearts and flowers. Cupids were too complex for our meager talents, but the guys had lots of fun drawing bows and arrows.
All this creativity notwithstanding, as the day approached we nervously waited to see who would give what to whom.
Freud, or one of those other like-minded psychologists, contended that there is a “latent period” in young lives when they are not interested in the opposite sex.
Freud never attended my elementary school, where most of my classmates skipped any “latent period” that might have been lurking in the corners of our young lives.
Boys wanted girlfriends and girls wanted boyfriends.
Problem was, the number of what might today be called “trophy” selections was limited, so a lot of the girls “liked” the same “cute” boys, and most of the boys “liked” the same “cute” girls.
The exchange of valentines on Valentine’s Day would force a public declaration of affection, followed by reciprocation or rejection.
As the day approached, you could cut the tension with a knife.
Symbolism was everywhere.
What if you gave “cute girl” your handmade valentine and Bubba trumped you with a store-bought better one? What if Johnny upped the ante with a Milky Way taped to his card?
Then there was the gnawing fear that Billy Ray would give his token of love to the “cute girl” you “liked,” and she would give him one in return – leaving you with a broken heart.
And what was going through the minds of those who were afraid they would get no valentines at all.
Teachers attempted to remedy that situation by instructing us to give valentines to everyone. Most of us responded by passing out to classmates those massed produced cards bought in bulk from the drug store. Then we gave a “special” Valentine to the “cute girl” or the “cute boy” that we wanted to sit with us in the lunchroom.
Thus by the end of the day we all knew who “liked” whom, who was “popular,” and whose love was and would remain unrequited.
Think of the scars left on our adolescent psyches.
Oh, we got over it, mostly.
But every Feb. 14, it comes back to haunt some of us.
Now, should I go with flowers or candy or something from Bass Pro Shop?
Ed. Note: This is the first in a series of periodic columns on humorous people, places and things in Alabama. Harvey H. (“Hardy”) Jackson is retired professor emeritus of history at Jacksonville State University whose most recent book is The Rise and Decline of the Redneck Riviera, featured in the January 2013 Alabama Living. His work appears in the Anniston Star and Northeast Alabama Living.